


coastal brake

by colberts



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1732334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colberts/pseuds/colberts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not so uncommon to run into Marines traveling in California, but that a Marine had been on Nate’s flight with the exact same bag feels like a Hollywood-esque twist of destiny. </p><p>Or one more dig from the USMC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	coastal brake

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as an “accidentally taking each other’s bags AU” from one of the AU posts going around tumblr, and turned into a mushy rom com??? they’re both Marines, but they didn’t serve together and I left it ambiguous for “AU” purposes. i know it’s ridiculous. but i enjoyed it.
> 
> title from the song of the same name by Tycho, because that song sounds like how i feel about this fic.

**10:42 am**

Before he knows it, Nate’s hurrying through the airport after him. Four inches affords Brad Colbert a tactical advantage, but Nate clings to the nagging feeling that there are forces greater than him at work, having put Brad Colbert in his path in such an unconventional way.

“Hey,” he says breathlessly as he falls into step beside Colbert, tugging his bag along on its wheels behind him. He wonders if Colbert’s trying to prove something by carrying his by the handle. They dodge between the crowds of people all hauling their own luggage and Nate does his best to wedge himself between Colbert and the swaths of people that he’s cutting his path through.

“Can I help you?” Colbert spares him a expressionless glance.

“I just,” Nate sucks in a breath, trying not to sound flustered. “Do you have a ride?” Neither of them were expecting those words. “It’s the least I could do.”

Colbert’s gaze is the match and Nate burns.

“I’m parked in the garage,” Colbert says, nodding toward the door ahead of them.

“Ok, do you want to give _me_ one?” Nate’s never shied away from a challenge. The worst that can happen is he goes back to his car and has a ridiculous story to share when he goes home.

Colbert makes a noise that sticks in his throat and suddenly, his face is transformed. Where he’d been neutral, completely blank save for some obvious annoyance when Nate had first laid eyes on him fifteen minutes back, amusement spreads to the corners of his mouth and creases his forehead. He rolls his lips between his teeth for a moment, tosses his gaze away from Nate like it will help him consider, but he must see something that gives him a sign.

“Sure.”

\---

**12:17 pm**

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Brad chants as Nate curls his tongue around the head of his cock. “You have to stop.”

“If you say so,” Nate says, pulling off with a flash of his teeth. Brad’s head drops back onto his pillow.

"I didn't mean that literally."

"There's a 'following orders' joke in there somewhere," Nate says as he flops down onto the bed next to Brad.

"I hope not." When Brad smiles, the majority of it is around his eyes and the way they gather up in the corners and brighten his whole face.

Nate props himself up on his elbow and takes a moment to really _look_ at Brad. There hadn't been much time for looking when they'd crashed through Brad's door and jerked each other off in his hallway like a couple of teenagers. Brad is long-limbed and wiry, more compact where Marines his size usually go for bulk. As far as Nate can tell, his body is the physical manifestation of his temperament - he's a lot of smoke and mirrors, but underneath he's steely strength.

"Talk to me," Nate says quietly, tracing his fingers over Brad's cock where it lays against his belly.

"Now?"

"I don't sleep with people I don't know."

Brad snorts. "Have I given you the impression that I allow strangers into my vehicle and my home on a regular basis?"

"Don't forget your pants."

"I didn't."

And that's another thing Nate adds to his list of surprises. Brad plays everything so close to his chest, he must leave people reeling on a daily basis. Nate can picture him picking up people at the bar, luring them in with one sweep of his eyes and a three-word offer.He’s the kind of intimidating that draws people in even when they know he’s trouble. Nate knows career men like Brad are no joke. But there’s more underneath that Nate wants, and he’s good at getting his way.

\---

**9:24 am**

Nate’s exhaustion always burns his eyes before the rest of him. He’d traveled across the country for an interview with a company he doesn’t really want to work for, fought with airport security about nail clippers he’d accidentally tried to bring through, and endured hours next to a 90 year old woman who smelled like garlic. By the time he’s finally settled in at his sister’s place, all he wants is to scrub the circulated cabin smell away and tumble into bed, but he’d made promises to attend his niece’s dance recital and he has some work to do before that. When he unzips his bag to retrieve the Ballerina Barbie he’d brought for her, he thinks for a moment that he’s finally lost his mind.

There’s a garment bag folded inside it that contains USMC dress blues.

Not _his_ dress blues, as it turns out, because Nate isn’t 6’8” and the pants drag the ground when he stands to inspect them. There’s also the fact that Nate is a retired USMC Captain, and his dress blues are at the back of his closet in Boston where he’d left them. The decoration is wrong and they’re older than Nate’s, but as soon as he had unzipped the bag, he’d been hit with a wave of deja vu that had washed away all sense of reason.

It’s not so uncommon to run into Marines traveling in California, but that a Marine had been on Nate’s flight with the _exact same bag_ feels like a Hollywood-esque twist of destiny.

Or one more dig from the USMC.

“Goddamn it.”

\---

**4:53 pm**

Brad can’t remember the last time he had sex with someone he liked so well.

“Hey, would you mind -” and Nate reaches out for Brad’s wrist and puts Brad’s hand on his dick.

“I get to do all the work?” Brad says, a drop of sweat dripping down his nose and onto Nate’s chest. Nate knows how to take what he wants, is shameless and cocky and fuck if that isn’t Brad’s weakness.

“Yes,” Nate says through gritted teeth, head arched back into the mattress. Neither of them spare a thought for the pillows knocked to the floor or the sheets untucked at the corner of the bed.

Brad squeezes Nate’s dick but gets distracted when he looks down to watch himself disappear into Nate’s ass. Nate makes an impatient noise and wraps his fingers around Brad’s, jerking himself with both of their hands. Brad shuts his eyes, too close to the edge to keep looking at Nate underneath him. He shifts himself forward, knees pressed under Nate’s thighs, and Nate makes another impatient noise, letting go of Brad’s hand.

“What?” Brad slows his strokes, easing himself in and out. Nate’s thighs shiver.

“You’re not,” and Nate pushes Brad back, carefully separating them. Brad opens his mouth  to question him, but Nate climbs up and pushes Brad backwards until he’s on his back. “Just not quite there yet.”

Nate lines their bodies up and sinks down, _slow slow slow_ , until their bodies are flush and Brad is convinced that some dark force definitely brought him to this moment in time, destined to be destroyed by Nate Fick. Nate rolls his hips experimentally, barely lifting himself off Brad.

“Jesus Christ,” Brad manages, every muscle in his body tight and straining towards Nate. Brad bends his knees and digs his toes into the mattress, desperate for more.

“Says the Jew,” Nate says, smiling down at Brad.

“I didn’t tell you that.” Brad can barely concentrate on anything other than the heat between them. Nate laughs.

“It’s called _situational awareness_.”

“I’m _aware_ that you need to _move_ ,” Brad says, thighs flexing as he tries to deepen Nate’s thrusts.

“That can be arranged.” The way Nate moves makes it a miracle Brad has lasted as long as he has.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ.”

\---

**11:18 am**

They’re halfway to Oceanside when Brad decides to call him out.

“This has got to be the most expensive lay of your life,” he says as casually as he can manage. Fick just snorts, shaking his head.

“You’re not wrong,” Nate says with a wry twist of his mouth, “but I figure the Corps owes me one after this mess. Plus, you can haul me back later or cough up cab fare. Let’s just hope they don’t tow it.”

“You’re a Marine?” The words bubble out of Brad before he can process them in the wake of his disbelief. He spares a quick glance and catches Fick’s smirk.

“Served as First Lieutenant of First Reconnaissance, Bravo Company Second Platoon. Retired in 2003,” he says. The plot thickens. Brad would have never pegged Fick as one of his own.

“Well, sir,” Brad says slowly, trying to regain control. He only plays on his terms. “I’m happy to do my duty on the Corps’ behalf.”

“That’s what I was hoping for.”

Fick is the dangerous sort, Brad can tell. He’s the kind of man that tumbles into the picture with an earnest smile and a baby face, but waits until Brad’s back is turned to swipe his feet out from under him with a shit-eating grin.

Fick looks like he’s ten years younger than Brad, all rounded cheeks and big, blue eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles. He looks like a pencil pusher with a wife and 2.5 kids. Brad thinks of the doll in his bag and the documents with Dartmouth and Harvard stamped across the top and he considers the fact that he’s known this man for less than an hour. And yet, there Fick is, sitting beside Brad, coasting on a bad pick-up line and some bullshit air of mystery.

Brad’s torn between the burning curiosity of knowing how Fick is in bed and the warning bells that are going off in the back of his head that tell him to dump Fick on the side of the road. By all rights, this chance meeting with Fick is some sort of delay of inevitability orchestrated by powers a lot higher than the USMC. _First Recon?_ Brad isn’t in the habit of giving anything away until he knows the AO better, but _what are the odds?_

Fick sighs, eyes on the water as they fly up the highway.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been back.”

\---

**12:19 pm**

"Tell me about this, then," Nate says, trailing his fingers across Brad's hip towards the hint of color peeking out at the curve of his side.

"Not much to tell. I was young, and when Marines are out of legitimate reasons to give you shit, they always think of others.” He shrugs and moves his hand to join Nate's at the edge of the tattoo, twining their fingers together. “I was the only guy without ink." Nate loses track of things, distracted by the unexpected gesture, and Brad slides their hands back to his dick. "And I don't half-ass anything."

"Sneaky."

"Strategic," Brad insists against his cheek.

"Stop," Nate says, trying to protest but finding it difficult with Brad's teeth skimming his jaw. "Brad, stop. I didn’t expect you to be such a one-trick pony."

Brad pushes his nose against Nate's collar bone and heaves a sigh. "Then get this show on the road before I take matters into _my own hands_."

"Tell me that’s not one of your regular lines." Nate smiles, pulls away enough to kiss Brad as a promise to reward him for good behavior. Brad laughs into Nate's mouth. Nate has to exercise a large portion of his self control not to climb on top of him and let Brad's impatience have its way, but Nate keeps seeing glimpses of what's underneath and wonders how much more there is.

They stay like that, making out like teenagers and ignoring bellies and thighs in favor of the way their mouths slide together, until Nate breaks away, breathless.

"Let me see it," he says quietly, leery of ruining the moment. He wants to find the the borders of Brad's control and put pressure on them until they crumble.

The flecks of gold in Brad’s eyes match his pale lashes. He sighs again, acting put upon, and rolls himself over until he's splayed out on his stomach, his arms folded under his pillow.

"Jesus." Nate doesn't recognize the picture or understand it, but it's all unexpected drama and fantasy that starts just above the curve of his ass and crawls halfway up his back. Nate takes a moment to study it before climbing on top. He straddles Brad's thighs and begins to explore. “You’re telling me they didn’t give you shit for _this_?”

The first stroke of his fingernail over the lines of the pyramid have Brad arching away so that his ass is pressed against Nate.

"Who said you could touch?"

"This was supposed to be show and _tell_ ," Nate says as he smooths his hands over Brad's shoulders.

"I told you about it."

"With minimal detail."

“Most people take speechlessness as a compliment in bed.”

“When I want you speechless, you won’t have a problem complying.” Nate’s fingers slide along the dip of Brad’s spine and follow it down to the edge of the tattoo. Brad’s breath hitches just enough for Nate to notice.

“You’re trouble, Fick.” Brad twists his neck just enough to make eye contact, like he’s reminding Nate who’s really in charge. Nate is under no illusions there. “It was in Heavy Metal magazine when I was young and stupid. It’s war. There are soldiers, there’s a hot woman with a gun. I was nineteen when I got it. Spent a huge paycheck on it just because I could.”

“You’re a geek,” Nate says as he presses his mouth to the small of Brad’s back, just to the left of the woman’s elbow.

“I’ve been called worse.”

“You’re also a Marine and you’re incredibly attractive. What else?”

“I’m a _Recon_ Marine,” Brad says with another look back at Nate. Nate pauses his hands.

“Then how have we not met?”

“I’d say we’ve met,” Brad says with a snort.

Nate flicks Brad’s ear and goes back to running his hands along Brad’s body. “I thought they sent all of Recon to Iraq in ‘03.”

Brad sighs into his pillow and starts to roll over, twisting his hips under Nate. Nate grabs his shoulders and holds him there, still exploring. Brad makes sure Nate can see him rolling his eyes before he settles back in.

“I was working with the Royal Marines at the time on an exchange. Everyone I knew got shipped out and I was busy kicking my feet up on my desk. Useless.”

Nate’s grateful that he can’t see Brad’s face. There are times and places for discussions of war. Nate has his own demons, and he’s sure Brad has his, but Nate’s more interested in the vast expanses of unexplored skin beneath him and the man who let someone ink such a monstrosity on his back like the world’s geekiest tramp stamp.

“Well,” Nate says as he leans forward to kiss the back of Brad’s neck, “we did ok without you. And you would’ve only distracted me.” He runs his mouth down the middle of Brad’s back, tonguing each vertebrae as he goes. Brad squirms under him.

“Are you going to spend all afternoon pumping me for intel or are you going to get in on the action?”

Nate laughs as he climbs off Brad’s legs to _take action_. “Do those lines actually work for you?”

“Never been with a Marine before, so this is the first time I’ve had the chance to try them out. You should be honored, sir.”

“Oh, I am.”

\---

**9:24 am**

Brad paces back and forth in baggage claim, waiting for the incompetents behind the desk to sort things out. Brad had made it all the way to his Jeep before he’d realized that the bag he’d picked off the belt was not his. All he’d wanted was his mp3 player. Instead, there were neatly pressed shirts, a shaving kit, a folder full of documents with Ivy League shit plastered all over them, and a Barbie doll still in its box. $19.99 for fake female perfection and years of self-esteem issues, all in lurid pink packaging. Christ, what a tool.

With every step, Brad curses Nathaniel Fick for having the audacity to travel from Boston to San Diego on the same flight as Brad, for shopping where that fucking bag was sold, for picking out a black fucking tag and for attaching it on the left side of the handle. Brad’s situational awareness is usually spot on, but that doesn’t extend to identical fucking suitcases after hours of cramped air travel. He needs his blues back, and he needs to get home in time to change and get to Tony’s so Mrs. Espera doesn’t murder him. It’s date night and Uncle Brad is supposed to babysit. His cell is dead and he’s out of cash and all he wants is his stupid fucking luggage.

His name blares out from the speakers overhead, calling him to the help desk. When he gets there, they inform him that Nathaniel Fick is an hour away. Brad scowls, nods, and sinks into a nearby seat to wait. If his wardrobe is anything to go by, Brad’s willing to hazard a guess that Nathaniel Fick is the kind of man that always obeys speed limits. _Civilians_.

\---

**5:16 pm**

“Nate,” Brad says, and it’s all the warning he can give, his fingers gripping the flesh of Nate’s thighs.

“Just hold on,” Nate says, jerking himself between them as they crash together. Brad meets every thrust, but they’re both too close to have any rhythm. It’s uncoordinated and sloppy and better than anything Brad’s had in a long time. He reaches up and slides his fingers into Nate’s hair at the back of his neck to tug him down for a kiss. It’s less kissing and more the glide of lips as they pant and groan, but Nate manages to bite Brad’s lip and sucks it into his mouth and that’s it, it’s too much. Brad comes, his whole body bowed toward Nate and Nate, the bastard, keeps grinding them together until Brad’s thighs shake. Brad reaches for Nate’s cock and runs his thumb over the head as they stroke him together. Nate plants his free hand on Brad’s chest and comes between them, his forehead pressed against Brad’s.

They stay like that for a long moment, breathing heavily with their eyes closed. Brad leans up and closes the space between them, kissing Nate gently before they pull apart. He can’t remember the last time he really enjoyed kissing anyone.

\---

**10:35 am**

Nate’s out of breath after jogging through the airport, bag in tow. He’s never driving himself during San Diego airport traffic again, that’s for damn sure. He’s too young to have a heart attack, but a vein in his neck throbs like he might anyway. A heart attack’s nothing in the face of a disappointed ballerina, though, so the quicker he trades off bags, the better.

“I’m Nate Fick, I called about the luggage mix up,” Nate says to the man behind the counter, swiping at the sweat beading his forehead. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, a man steps up next to him and _looms_. Nate’s never considered the difference a few inches can make, but he’s seen Brad Colbert’s pants, and the man next to him could certainly fill them.

Everything about the guy screams _Marine_. His cheekbones are sharp and his eyes are hooded by his thick brow, but Nate’s gaze is drawn south to the curve of his biceps where his nails bite into suntanned skin just below the sleeve of his t-shirt. Lesser men may have been warned off, but Nate is immediately reminded of all the men he served with, the men he respects most and the men he misses. Brad Colbert is intriguing on his own, all towering intimidation, but Nate’s hit with nostalgia as much as the immediate attraction.

His attention doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Here,” Brad Colbert says as he sets Nate’s bag down in front of him, retrieved from the nervous clerk. Colbert continues to scrutinize him for another few seconds before grabbing his bag and giving Nate a curt nod. In what seems like three strides, he’s already rounding the corner and out of sight.

\---

**5:45 pm**

Brad’s basking in the glow of the most surreal one-day-stand he has ever had when his doorbell rings and brings reality crashing down upon him.

“Oh, shit.”

“What,” but Brad cuts Nate off by throwing his shirt at his face.

“Get dressed! I fucking forgot about date night,” Brad says as he tries to get his pants on with his t-shirt tangled around one arm.

“Date night?” Nate chokes on the words like they taste bad coming up.

“Fuck, no, not _mine_ ,” Brad says quickly, almost losing his balance as he pulls on a sock. “I was supposed to babysit. Totally forgot, phone’s dead, _I’m_ dead, fuck.”

Nate blinks at him from the bed, from which _he hasn’t moved_. “Jesus Christ, Brad, I thought I was going to have to climb out the window!”

“You might have to if you don’t _get fucking dressed_. I’ll be lucky to survive the evening with my balls intact.” He stops in the bathroom to make sure he doesn’t look as thoroughly fucked as he feels and runs wet fingers through his hair to flatten it. It’s hopeless. “Come on, come on, I can’t leave you up here, she’ll find you.”

“Maybe it’s time you get some new friends,” Nate suggests as he buttons his shirt.

“I’ve been saying that for years.”

\---

**5:50 pm**

When Brad whips the door open, Nate lets out the breath he was holding when the only women behind it are under the age of ten. The man behind them looks so surprised that Nate almost has to laugh. If he hadn’t believed fate had a hand in orchestrating the entire ridiculous day before that moment, he has no choice but to accept it once he lays eyes on Brad’s friend.

“Well,” Tony Espera says, completely lost for words.

“Sorry,” Brad says, ignoring the way both girls have attached themselves to his legs, “I, uh, got distracted and my phone died.”

“She left messages on your house phone, man. She said she’d deal with you later, when she hasn’t spent hours getting ready.” He says it all without taking his eyes off Nate. “Lieutenant Fick. What the f-heck?”

Brad’s cheeks color and Nate is even more endeared.

“Tony. It’s been awhile.” Nate reaches around Brad to shake Tony’s hand.

Brad looks between them, horror-struck at the realization. “Oh, don’t tell me you,” he starts.  
  
“Served under LT here in Afghanistan and Iraq,” Tony says, shaking his head. “Guess you served under him too, huh?”

The laughter bubbles out of Nate before it can be stopped.

“He upgraded. I’m a _Captain_ now,” Nate manages between laughs. Tony throws his head back and joins him, both of them breathless with it while Brad looks on in disbelief. Tony’s daughters tug on Brad’s hands and pull them out of it.

“I can’t wait to hear how the hell this happened, but I haven’t been alone with my wife in weeks and I’ve got my priorities all squared away.” He hops down Brad’s front steps, turning back to threaten them. “Keep it G-rated in front of my babies!”

Nate throws up a hand as Tony pulls out of the driveway and can’t believe the last six hours of his life actually happened.

And then he remembers _his_ niece.

“Oh, shit.”

\---

Nate unzips his bag when he gets back to Boston and finds a piece of paper carefully folded in one of the outside pockets. It’s the back page of the program from his niece’s recital. Her name’s circled, and underneath the phone number scrawled at the top, there’s a message written in tall, sloping letters.

  
_Not a big believer in coincidences, but if you find yourself missing the Corps, maybe give me a call. Poke says hi. Don’t believe anything he says about me._

**Author's Note:**

> edit: totally forgot to include the times so i added them in. for timeline purposes, pretend they had lunch in the middle of all the sex.


End file.
